Where Broken Dreams Come From
by Avari de Lioncourt
Summary: Doubts and lies catch up with you in the end. We must all face are greatest fears. Juri faces herself. angst.


Where Broken Dreams Come From

Standard Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, all things property of respective owners.

Warnings: Ruka/ Juri, angst, minor swearing

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY Juri-san! Sorry this was late; I wanted to make it perfect. I hope you enjoy. As for everyone else, this fic is of course dedicated to the still wonderful Arisuawga-san. It was her birthday December 1, and this is her birthday gift, read and review. This takes place after the sword raping, or for the rest of you after Shiori took Juri' soulsword and lost to Utena.

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I still don't feel clean. I can feel the water's blistering heat, indeed my body is still flushed from it, but I don't feel clean. My pale skin, my poor skin, shows marks of the abuse my its lunatic mistress. Pink with scratches from where I scrubbed to hard and let the blood bubble forth as I tore at the skin to reach the stain. Within my body its there, I just have to break through the skin to reach it…. I want to return to my shower, my sanctuary, let the blood bubble forth like some brook dyed crimson just so I can get rid of the stain.

Something did happen, not nothing like we pretended. Something will happen again, unlike how we will pretend. 

Its too late for that, now, I have to see the sickness moving beneath me now. Oh make it stop! I can feel the bile climbing up my throat at these traitorous thoughts, its not supposed to that, is it? I'm not supposed to be weak, am I? Tell me… AM I!

My face isn't wet, it can't be… I'm not in my shower so warm salty water can't trace paths down my face. It can't! Can it?

Why don't I know this anymore? It's this disease in me. The filth I can not touch, can not reach, this is all its fault. If it weren't distracting me I'd know? I'd know the answers to my qu- NO! I wouldn't have these questions if it weren't moving inside me. Growing inside me like some twisted parody of child. Only it doesn't leave. It gets bigger and bigger until my poor body can't handle it anymore and I burst at the seams. 

My knees hurt? My knees hurt. I fell? I fell. 

There I am… my mirror. She's on her knees, that little girl with damp ringlets. Her nightgown looks like mine…only she is so young. She's frail, and feminine…All that I am not. 

And she's getting closer, crawling on her hands and knees like some wounded beast until we can reach out and touch. 

She is, reaching out to me, this frail creature who needs to be protected. Sheltered from the world. I don't have the heart to tell her that no one will hold her when she cries, that she is on her own. She is so frail and sad, I couldn't say that to her. I don't have the cold soul that it would take to tell her that miracles don't exist and princes don't rescue the princess. I can't tell her that she isn't a princess, or even the price, that she is just a silly girl with hopeless dreams. I can't tell her that, strip her of that innocence in her mind. 

Look at her, that girl with ringlets so soft in a nightgown like mine, she believes in best friends and romantic men. Has her eye on a handsome boy, no doubt one who loves's her back. Even though she and her best friend don't see eye to eye right now, she has faith that their bonds are strong enough to weather any storm. I though girls like her no longer existed, but she believes it completely.

Like she knows he loves her completely. She is more than ready to lean into his embrace and let him carry her to some place magical. 

Look, she rises looking to her prince. She knows he is in love with her, and loves his handsome form. His azure hair touched with a bit of white she loves to tease him about. His kind eyes as they gaze on his beloved and sleek form, like a dashing prince ready to duel for the honor and happiness of his princess. He even puts his arm around her. Holding her thin shoulders with his strong hands.

As much as she loves the embrace, loves him, she still presses her palm against mine. Her hand is so cold, like…glass.

Fuck you! Red and crystal, so much red sliding down the face of my mirror. My own reflection, solitary in my bedroom is sullied by a crimson wash from own hand. It pools over my reflection's heart. A shattered cavity all that remains. 

How can a girl with no heart live?

Easily, she just has to be made of broken glass.

tear tear 'tis done-------------

Ok, this was intended to be a sappy Ruka/Juri fic. I have only one question: How did that happen? My only defense was that I was a few weeks past the deadline, determined to post it and it was very, very late. Ok, maybe only 11:15 but I had consumed sugar and caffeine. Angst must always insue with that combination. Either way, happy birthday and merry holidays Angi. 


End file.
